


Blood

by OzQueen



Series: babysitters100 [45]
Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Family, Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/pseuds/OzQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vanessa's soaked through by the time she gets home, but it don't make the bragging rights less sweet. “Killed the werewolf,” she says casually, hanging her coat and her bow by the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meroure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meroure/gifts).



> I wrote a Pikernatural fic. Blame lucida, miss_slipslop and isquinnabel for this.  
> It just kind of happened.  
> So, in my head, Vanessa is 17/18 in this fic.
> 
> Happy fandom_stocking, meroure ♥

_They lived in a log cabin in woods yonder, the walls stuffed with salt and herbs. The children all grew up on nightmare stories and the sound of knives sharpened by firelight._

_Folks say the odds were against them, so many young and fragile things in a world full of shadows, but they all lived to be old. Every single one of 'em._

-

It's raining hard, but there's still a full moon behind those low clouds, and it don't matter what the legends say – the dark won't weaken it.

Vanessa fits an arrow to her bow silently, slides her shoulders around the trunk of the tree, the rain spilling through the leaves above. The creature is still too far away for her to shoot with any certainty of death, especially in such poor light.

She leans the heel of her boot down on a nearby twig. When the beast runs at her, teeth gnashing in the dark, she puts her silver-tipped arrow through its chest. When it falls to the ground it's nothing more than a man again.

She drags him beneath the dry wall of a cliff by the river and burns his body on a bed of salt and St. John's Wort.

-

She's soaked through by the time she gets home, but it don't make the bragging rights less sweet. “Killed the werewolf,” she says casually, hanging her coat and her bow by the door.

“Bullshit,” Adam says. “There's no moon.”

She smirks at him and lets Mom fuss around her with blankets and a hot bowl of stew.

“Who was it?” Byron asks. He's sprawled in front of the fire, watching Claire twirl a knife in her hand.

“Don't know. Didn't recognise him.”

She sits on the floor beside Nicky's legs. He looks half-asleep and there's a bright stripe from a tree branch or something high on his cheek. “What happened to you?” she asks.

“Caught a beech tree in the face when Mallory ran away from something up near White Pine.”

“Didn't see you offering to stay back and fight,” Mallory mutters. “And it wouldn't have caught you in the face if you hadn't run so close after me.”

“What was it?” Vanessa swallows a hot mouthful of stew.

“Dad says it sounds like a Wendigo.”

“No way you could outrun a Wendigo,” Claire snorted. “Your ass is slow as molasses.”

“Fuck you,” Nicky says.

“Language,” Mom says. She's sitting at the table with Dad, stuffing leather pouches with herbs, salt and charcoal.

Vanessa pokes at a grisly lump at the bottom of her bowl. “Dad, what the hell is in this stew?”

“Don't ask,” Dad murmurs, not looking up.

“Why didn't you kill it?” Jordan asks.

“We were out looking for a werewolf, not a Wendigo,” Nicky says indignantly. “And you tell me how we're supposed to burn anything in this rain.”

“How'd _you_ find the werewolf?” Jordan turns to Vanessa.

She taps her temple and swallows the last of her stew. “Brains.”

Jordan rolls his eyes and nudges Adam. “Want to go look for the Wendigo tomorrow?”

“We should all go,” Margo says.

“No thanks,” Jordan tells her. “We don't need you carelessly falling down a mine shaft or nothin' when we're trying to shoot stuff.”

“That happened _one time_!” Margo bellows.

“If you're going to fight, you can go to bed,” Mom says, pointing her pestle at Jordan.

Vanessa wriggles back against the cushions behind her and they talk about werewolf tracks and Wendigos until the fire has burned low.

-

The rain has let up by morning, though the sky is still low and dark. Vanessa's coat is damp across her shoulders, but she soon forgets the chill as she follows her brothers and sisters up the trail to White Pine.

“Remember that, um, Shadow that dragged Dad off into the woods that time,” Claire says breathlessly, “and we tracked it to that cave with all the Bluecaps in it? D'you think maybe they'd know where the Wendigo is?”

“We'll send Margo in to ask them,” Adam says. “She's BFFs with all the underground mining spooks, right, Margo?”

“I'll shank you,” Margo threatens.

Nicky halts them all and hefts the bag slung across his back. “It was here somewhere,” he says.

“Yeah, I thought I recognised a patch of your face on that tree a ways back,” Jordan says.

Claire snorts.

“Up there,” Mallory says, nodding.

Vanessa follows the motion and sees the clean, white shavings of deep claw marks in the trees ahead.

She feels a shiver go down her spine and her fingertips tighten and spark. For a moment she feels very fragile in her skin, thin tissue and blood against something much stronger, much darker. She slides an arrow from the quiver over her back and runs her thumb gently over the fletching.

“Anyone hear of someone from town goin' missing?” Byron asks, resting the heel of his hand against the knife on his belt.

“Nope,” Nicky says, “but it didn't chase us, so it can't be too hungry. Maybe it's taken someone but the story ain't out yet.”

“Mom says she's heard they don't like the rain,” Margo says quietly. “Maybe you got lucky.”

Jordan smirks and flexes his arm. “Or it was waitin' for someone who looked a little more satisfying, meat wise.”

Byron shoves him with a grin, and they all troop on, footsteps almost silent on the damp forest trail.

Vanessa jumps when Claire's thin fingers clasp her arm through the thick wool of her coat. “Smell that,” she whispers, feet slowing in the black dirt, her face pale.

Vanessa lifts her nose to the clean air of the wood and almost retches when the smell of rotting flesh and decay sinks into her lungs.

Claire's already got knives in her hands, looking back down the trail from where they came; Vanessa notches her arrow, the tip soaked with wolfsbane. It won't drop a Wendigo, but it'll sting like a son-of-a-bitch and might slow it down some. It's their best chance of buying an extra second or so to light the sucker up.

The others have all noticed it too. Knives and arrows glint and lift in the morning gloom.

“Smells like one of Byron's,” Adam whispers. Jordan's shoulders shake with laughter for a moment, but then there's a wail that rips its way down the mountain, shifting the leaves so the wood seems to curl in on itself.

Vanessa can feel the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck all stand on end. Mallory circles, her back to Byron's. “Claire, light your torches.”

Claire opens her mouth to argue, but shuts it again and shrugs her bag from her shoulders. Vanessa gives her a little smile. Too many hunters have bought themselves a one-way ticket because they were arguing when they were supposed to be killing.

Nicky lights four torches with his knife and a nodule of flint, and he and Claire take positions either side of the trail, torches in hand, muscles tense and tight.

“How many of us d'you think it'll want to take down?” Nicky asks.

“Don't worry, Nick,” Byron whispers. “You're hardly a bite. It'll go Mallory first.”

“You're bigger than me, lunkhead,” Mallory answers.

The wail arcs through the air again. Vanessa wants to curl over and cover her ears with her hands. She can't tell where it's coming from, but the smell is stronger now, like winter rot and forgotten meat.

“There!” Adam fires an arrow off into the woods and it disappears between the trees. Vanessa thinks she sees something grey, a shape all sharp and long, but it moves too fast for her eyes to follow and she loses it somewhere in the leaves.

Claire shrieks and Vanessa whirls around and shoots almost blindly. Another arrow fires a split second later and further to the right – Jordan, and this time the creature screams, angry and loud.

“I got it,” Jordan says, notching another arrow. “Where'd it go?”

A tree branch cracks overhead and falls to the ground. They all take a step towards one another, shrinking their circle, back to back, eyes trained on the woods around them.

Drizzle mists down through the trees, beading lightly on hair and clothing. Everything is quiet – no birds, no wind. Vanessa's muscles tremble; she dares not relax her stance.

The smell crawls over her skin and down her throat and she wants to spit. She almost shoots the gnarled trunk of a shadowed tree, convinced a face is staring back at her, grotesque lips curled around blood-stained teeth. She blinks and it's gone; just a tree again, and she won't ever know if it was a trick of the light or something worse.

Something bounces from a branch overhead, leaves shaking. They don't hear where it lands, just the launch of it, and it's like the climax is hanging in the air, the creature suspended above them, invisible.

Mallory fires an arrow into the woods, tuts when she misses. “Damn thing moves out of range soon as you fire,” she says. “Gotta coax it in.”

“You wanna be the bait, Margo?” Adam asks.

“Not with you covering me,” she says. But she sheaths her knife again and takes a step back into the middle of their circle. “Got a plan?”

“No one's baitin' it,” Vanessa says quietly. “It can run and kill us all in a heartbeat. It's circling. It'll come.”

“Soooo comforting,” Jordan says. “Thanks, Vanessa.”

They know she's right, though. No point coaxing it in by doing something foolish. It chose to let 'em know it was there. It'll come.

Vanessa wonders just how patient the thing is. Maybe it'll get tired of circling. Maybe it'll rush at 'em, risking their torches to rip its claws through their soft skin. She wonders if the wolfsbane on Jordan's arrowhead is hurting it any.

A new noise starts from deep in the trees, off in the distance where the rain blurs everything together – like wind roaring through a valley, whistling and funnelling through rock and wood, but nothing is moving; the leaves aren't so much as quivering. The roar gets louder and louder until Vanessa can't hear anything else, it's filling her head and squeezing the air from her lungs.

It stops as suddenly as it started, and the only noise is the rain dripping down onto the dark dirt and leaf litter on the forest floor.

Vanessa catches movement out of the corner of her eye, but it's only Byron – he flings his knife and there's a new scream from the forest like a wounded animal, and more branches snap and creak overhead as the thing flees to the safety of the treetops.

“Got it,” Byron says.

“Bet you didn't,” Adam says. “Hard enough to hit with an arrow. No way you can move fast enough to hit it with a damn knife.”

“I got it,” Byron says confidently, quietly. “It wasn't watchin' me.”

Vanessa feels ice crawl down her spine as she considers Byron's words and wonders which one of them the creature was focused on; which one of them it's gonna pick off first.

She knows it's only keeping its distance because of the smell and flicker of fire.

There's a rustling noise in the nearest tree, leaves spinning through the drizzle. Vanessa looks up and sees it, curled in the arms of two branches, hollow black sockets staring down at her, skin sagging loosely over sharp bones. She can see the snapped shaft of Jordan's arrow in its shoulder.

She keeps her eyes on it. It stares back at her – she thinks it's staring at her, but she and her siblings have formed a tight circle and the thing don't have eyes, so far as she can tell, so she can't be sure.

She raises her arrow slowly, everything already pulled taut, muscles aching. She expels a slow breath. The beast lowers its head slowly, staring back, and stretches one gnarled hand towards her, the skin of its fingers black and loose, its long claws flexing. Points at her, flesh sagging around its mouth to reveal sticky teeth, the stench in the air rising and rising.

She counts slowly, not moving.

_One two, one two_

_And through and through_

_the vorpal blade_

_went snicker-snack_

She releases the arrow, blinks, and the thing is gone, Vanessa's arrow quivering in the trunk of the tree.

-

Behind the cloud, the sun has risen high, and the Wendigo is still hovering just out of reach. Vanessa's sunk one arrow into it and Mallory hit it with the wrong end of a knife.

“Won't ever live that one down,” Adam tells her. “Bet you bruised him good.”

“At least I hit it,” Mallory says, smirking at him. “How many arrows have you wasted this morning?”

The thing has slowed down a lot. Vanessa can't tell if it's the wolfsbane or because it's trying to think of a way to snatch one of them up without coming too close to the torches, and it's surveying their weak points. It's still avoiding most of what they throw at it, and they've held off a bit, not willing to waste so many arrows on the damp air of the forest.

Having it in clean sight so often means none of them have become complacent. Even Claire is still ready to jump at the slightest noise, her eyes sharp, fingers wrapped tightly around the torches in her hands.

Low chuckling rolls through the forest like fog, echoing over and over. Vanessa can feel it like salt in her joints, all wrong, aching. Whispers of a language she don't know, long forgotten and centuries past, and it laughs again and drags its feet as it paces between the trees, blank eyes turned towards them.

“Fuck this,” Nicky says, and he dips his torch and scorches the end of Adam's arrow. “Shoot it.”

The arrow won't stay lit, but it smokes some, blackened at the end, and Adam raises his bow and shoots almost lazily, like he don't expect to hit it.

It screams loud enough to shake the trees, and it staggers and drags its claws through the trunk of an oak like soft mud, snapping the arrow off at the shaft. It stands in front of them and raises itself, bellowing, the leaves in the trees shaking and quivering, pooled rain slipping to the ground. Its limbs unfold, bones straightening and cracking, mouth yawning open.

They shoot like fools, all at once, and it's gone by the time their arrows make it that far. Stomach in her throat, Vanessa slots another arrow and spins on her heel, but it's too late – it's come around and the smell hits her in the face as it raises its arm and sweeps its claws down across Adam's shoulder, grasping at his flesh and dragging him backwards.

It's sick though, can't move that fast again, and Claire drops one torch and flings the other with both hands, hitting it in the chest the same moment Adam falls to the ground, his blood soaking the dirt.

It catches like paper, aged skin curling and floating in the heat, its voice bubbling away like a shallow stream as it sinks into a pile of ash, one arm still stretched towards them, clawed fingers grasping at the air.

Vanessa drops to her knees beside Adam and starts to cut away his shirt with a blade she cleans with dandelion and garlic. “Claire, go home and get Mom, tell her to bring her kit,” she says. “Go now.”

Claire's footsteps beat away in the dirt; Vanessa hears her fall once. Someone follows her, pulls her up and runs with her.

“Adam...” Jordan's grasping Adam's hair, tilting his head back, but his eyes are closed, his face waxy. The wound is angry and deep, blood pooling on the ground, and it don't look right; too dark, too thick.

Byron tries to elbow Vanessa away. She slaps his hand and shrugs out of her coat. “Who's got what?” she asks, and their fingers tremble as they pull leather pouches from pockets and boots, loosening strings and unfolding packets of herbs and healing.

“Nicky, use the torches to get a fire started,” Mallory says. “Don't use the one that killed the Wendigo.”

Vanessa probes at the wound on Adam's shoulder. It's sticky and cold, his skin burned and scarred at the edges.

“Wake him up,” Jordan pleads softly, his fingers still threaded in Adam's hair.

“Not yet,” Vanessa says. “We don't need him kickin' about and making this harder than it already is. Someone run down the river and bring up some water.”

“I'll go,” Mallory says, scrambling to her feet.

It starts to rain again. The fire smokes and flutters in the damp, and Nicky looks pale, his eyes darting glances at Adam as Vanessa instructs him on what to add to the flames. She leans on Adam's shoulder and tries not to think about how cold and dark his blood is as it seeps between her fingers.

-

“We're getting less and less identical as we get older, thanks to shit like this,” Jordan says breathlessly, looking down at Adam. “It's like you don't even care.”

“You're definitely the ugly one, now,” Byron adds. “Knocked Jordan outta first place.”

Adam laughs weakly. “Like hell.”

Vanessa rolls her eyes, her fingers aching as she keeps a tight grip on the rough stirrup of the stretcher they rigged together from saplings and leather. Every step is taken carefully, but Adam's face is still white with pain, and she can see the marks he's left on Byron's hand as he clenches hold of him.

Mom's pasted something that smells foul and familiar all over Adam's shoulder, and her mouth is pressed in a thin line as she marches beside the stretcher, rifling through the leather bag she keeps her medicines in.

Vanessa's pretty sure they're all going to be subjected to her You Have To Be More Careful lecture later.

The house is warm and quiet when they all troop in out of the rain. Adam's grip on Byron's hand has slackened and Vanessa can see his teeth chattering when they lower the stretcher down in front of the fire.

Claire's already waiting, face tear-streaked. She's gathered blankets, got tea steeping in the coals. “Are you gonna live?” she asks, leaning over to inspect Adam closely.

Adam grunts through clenched teeth.

Claire's eyes start to shine a little too bright, and Mallory puts an arm around her shoulder. “He's been a smart ass the whole way home,” she says comfortingly. “About how slow we were and how Nicky and Margo had to keep swappin' over carrying him because they're weaklings.”

“Scrawny arms,” Adam mutters.

Claire gives him a watery smile and Mallory tugs at her and leads her away to the back of the house. Vanessa rolls up her sleeves and kneels beside her mother.

Jordan and Byron refuse to be shifted. They stand by the fire and watch, shoulder to shoulder, their arms folded across their chests, wearing matching frowns.

Vanessa watches closely as Mom mixes pastes and salves in cedar bowls. The smells are strong and comforting, bringing up memories of storms and battle wounds, salamander burns and scars from anansi web.

Vanessa looks at the scars on Mom's arms in the glow of the fire, runs her fingers over her own knitted skin and wonders how many times a person can be sealed back together before their luck runs out.

-

Dad cooks when the sun sinks low in the sky, and the rich smell of meat slowly overtakes the bitterness of burning herbs.

Vanessa washes up tiredly, scrubbing mud and blood from beneath her nails and pulling leaf litter from her hair. She's got no appetite but she eats anyway, chewing and swallowing mechanically as night falls and presses against the windows of the little house.

“I was mean to him,” Margo whispers guiltily, looking up at Vanessa with worried eyes, dark in the firelight. “I never meant it.”

Vanessa combs Margo's hair out, smoothing the tangled strands with her fingers and murmuring little comforts. “Don't feel too sorry for him,” she whispers. “He'll take advantage of any sorrow soon as he's up.”

By the fire, Mom and Dad sit and talk quietly, their eyes on Adam. Byron and Jordan lean tiredly on one another, stomachs still empty, forest mud still splashed on their boots.

-

“Where're Jordan and Byron?”

“Mom sent 'em out for supplies.” Vanessa sinks onto the side of Adam's bed. His fever took two days to break, shook him from head to toe and drenched him through. The house has got the lingering tang of sickness and sweat in the air, and Claire has been burning handfuls of sage to try and get rid of it.

Nicky won't let her near the fire anymore.

Adam shifts weakly beneath his blankets, still tired, his eyes still glazed.

“Hungry?” Vanessa asks. “Mom's been distracting herself by cooking whatever's in sight, whether it's edible or not.” She lifts a bowl of broth in her hands, but Adam shakes his head, eyes closed again.

“You look better,” she adds after a moment. “Got less of that Wendigo skin shade goin' on.”

“Always was the most handsome,” Adam mumbles.

Vanessa sets the broth aside. “I'm meant to change your dressings,” she says. “You up for it?”

He grunts.

The wound has closed, but it'll leave a scar. She thinks he'll still have good use of his shoulder – maybe it won't make no difference at all – but it looks ugly as hell. She traces the salve in arcs and patterns over the skin, drawing symbols he'd roll his eyes at if he had the energy.

As it is, he rouses when she sets the salve aside again.

“Don't cast no spells,” he says. “Witch.”

“Ain't like it'll hurt,” Vanessa shoots back at him, perhaps a little too defensively. She's the only one in the family so taken by spells – except for maybe Mallory, or her mother. Everyone says they're outdated, but Vanessa likes the way the words roll off her tongue. There's a comfort and a prayer in spellwork, something deep and ancient, and she'll stick by it long as she lives.

“You'll turn me into a toad,” Adam moans.

“Not like you've got far to go,” she says, but she settles beside him quietly and doesn't prod anymore.

Eventually, Adam's breathing evens out again, and the lines in his face fade away. Vanessa pulls the blanket a little higher on his chest and whispers a few faint little words, just for the sake of it, and just to settle herself.

Adam sighs and shifts his head against the pillow. “I heard that.”

Vanessa smirks and watches him fall asleep.

-

_They say they lived in those woods years longer than any man ought to live. They were brought up on magic and smoke, bound together, blood and soul._

_Folks say them Pikes feared nothing in that forest._


End file.
